


Against Nature

by HerdOfTurtles



Series: My sad attempt at whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1600 collars, America is too, Angst, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Hyperventilation, I may be projecting a bit in this, Oliver Cromwell is mentioned, Panic Attacks, The english civil war, Whumptober 2020, except more angst than whump again, hah they look stupid, huh I'm really abusing these tags, ish, it's one of those two, or not?, uuhhh France is mentioned, wow I really shouldn't be allowed to tag things anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerdOfTurtles/pseuds/HerdOfTurtles
Summary: Whumptober: Today's prompt is Collars! =DMe: oh boy lotta whump potential here.Also me: heh those 1600s ruffle things were called collarsAlso also me: proceeds to write 858 words inspired by 1600s collar rufflesIf you haven't noticed, today's prompt was collars, and I keep proving to myself that I should not be allowed to write anything on ao3
Series: My sad attempt at whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949041
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Against Nature

**Author's Note:**

> I managed to throw some angst in there anyway even though I was like..... yeah. My brain meats are slowly crawling towards freedom leaving my skull empty and my vacant eyes unable to process words. So yeah. Enjoy this very off topic whumptober... thing.

Ridges rolled under his fingers, ridges he knew to be pearly white, only sicker in appearance. 

England ran his fingers over the the bare skin of his neck again, but this time with more confidence. It could be hidden. Maybe he would need a scarf or collar to hide it under, but he could hide it. 

The mirror version of himself stilled. The hand's movement stopped, and slowly, weakly dropped down, down to its side, idle and motionless. 

Those pale lines could be hidden as long as he liked, but they would see the light eventually. Sometime, someone would find out.

England grimaced and pulled himself from the mirror. With a short stride he was faced away from the detestable sight, and he was free to leaf through different coats and detachable collars he could hide it under. Part of him blamed the people for his current predicament, but the other half was blaming his stupid self and his stupid loyalty. He could have gotten himself out of this. Now he was stuck with the scar, the humiliating mark-- or at least he would be for many years to come. 

France would find out first. He always did. Always looking for something to jab him about... and America... what if the boy asked about the scars? 

He shook his head and the action displaced his tangled gold hair. England didn't move to fix it. He wasn't even focusing on what his hands were doing.

America wouldn't find out, though. America would never see those scars, because England was skilled at hiding things and he refused to be bested by a child. 

England absent-mindedly fit a randomly picked collar around his neck, covering the evidence. The collar looked horrendous... it was at least three inches from his neck and it restricted his movements.

He couldn't help but think he'd been reduced to some fancy dress-up doll. He used to be a decorated military general. Now he was... this. 

He scowled. This was all Cromwell's fault. England was lost without a king or queen, he'd never gone without one and last time he did was devastating. Now he had the actual military running his kingdom and he wasn't allowed to touch anything politically inclined. He was a Cavalier and both parliament and Cromwell only had him because they couldn't figure out how to kill him. 

England adjusted the collar again, finding it hard to breathe. He made sure the scars didn't show. Just in case.

He could tell Cromwell hated him. Parliament did too-- after all, they had beheaded him right alongside his king.

But Cromwell would have to play it smart now. With the Treaty of Paris, England was now in 'alliance' with that insufferable Frenchman, right after nearly going bankrupt trying to keep his colonies, and that meant the countries would be trading personifications now. 

He stared himself in the mirror.

Fresh frustration pressed down on his chest. His fingers were tingling and he hated this. All this change. Stupid, pointless change. He didn't want this, he didn't want his king to die, he didn't want wars against the Dutch and Spanish over stupid matters like trade or who was Catholic and who wasn't. And more than anything he didn't want the inevitable flush of humiliation he'd get when _France_ found out that his own people tried to kill him. Not in a mob or war-- but a formal execution. And they tried twice.

The ruffled, cloth collar suddenly felt too tight. It felt like a metal collar chaining him to Cromwell. He remembered how those who saw those scars shrunk away from them in mute horror. 

It looked like a slit throat, like a neck that walked away from the gallows with more than it deserved.

And killing blows nearly never fade. 

His breath hitched.

Suddenly his eyes flew wide and he assessed his state. This feeling... he recognised this feeling...

Why now? Why not before? Anytime before?

He can't remember the last time this happened.

He took a deep breath but it didn't help. His body began to shake and tremble and England couldn't stop. It was irrational. At the worst time.

Did he want France to find him holed up in his room and _broken_ useless?

Why was this happening to him--

His body was on the floor after a small struggle to stay upright. The world was already slanting and his breathing was too fast.

He couldn't breathe why couldn't he breathe?

England tore the collar from his neck but he still couldn't pull enough air in. _because it's not the collar you fool there's something wrong with you... there has been for a while._

His heartbeat was pounding and he didn't know why. He didn't know anything-- he wasn't allowed to. He had nothing left except to pretend nothing had happened and how could he do that? France would see through everything in five seconds. 

And now he couldn't even breathe properly. He thought he'd fixed this issue... he thought he was done with this.

But apparently it had only been biding its time.

**Author's Note:**

> H


End file.
